


they stumble that run fast

by violaceum_vitellina_viridis



Series: Into the Jaskierverse [8]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Comparing Universes, Family, Family Fluff, Feral Jaskier, Fluff, Gen, Kink Shaming, Multi, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Polyamory, Ruthlessly Cherry-Picked Canon, Snarky Ciri, mentions of sex acts, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26508139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis
Summary: Geralt lands in Kaer Morhen, without Ciri. Fuck.//He crashes to the ground in the courtyard at Kaer Morhen. "Fuck."Geralt takes a small detour to a universe he'd rather not visit again, and then lands in a more acceptable place to rest.(See notes for further info about tags!)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Into the Jaskierverse [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895545
Comments: 38
Kudos: 223





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello! notes:
> 
> geralt arrives in my wbaw!verse first, that really porny one - it's mostly non-explicit (rating is for safety more than anything) but if you'd like to avoid any mention of it, it starts at the words "at Eskel," and ends at "Geralt doesn't bother to be quiet...". and if you just want a heads up about what happens: oral sex between jaskier and eskel, and mention of vesemir/jaskier and daddy kink. 
> 
> that done, i have no idea if any of this is considered canon in my verses yet or not, but here it is!

Geralt lands in Kaer Morhen, without Ciri.

_Fuck._

He palms the little swallowtail charm. He’ll see what this universe is like, and then he’ll decide. He needs to find Ciri, really, but if he’s here, he may as well look around.

The last portal – and whatever slammed into him and Ciri that separated them – landed him in what looks like an old, unused room of the castle. He looks around and can’t seem to find any defining features _inside_ it, so he has to leave to figure out where to go. Hopefully, he won’t immediately run into someone. He’d like to get his bearings first.

No one is in the hall, and as soon as he sees the torn, moth-eaten tapestry on the far end, he knows where he is. Of course no one would be in this hall, not after the sacking – it’s damn near inaccessible. Judging from the state of the walls and floor, and of course the tapestry, the sacking has happened in this universe. He has no way of knowing how long ago, though – could be decades, could be months. He’ll have to find out, he supposes, whenever he eventually finds someone.

_If_ he finds someone.

Now, that’s a depressing thought.

He walks to the end of the hallway that should lead to the rest of the castle and finds the collapsed tower that he was expecting. Alright, so, can’t get to the rest of it by normal means – he’ll have to find a way around. He looks up to where he can see a small glimpse of the angry grey sky through the pile of rubble and considers.

“Ah, fuck it.”

Lambert will have a heyday when he hears about this, but whatever. Geralt makes sure his boots and weapons are secure, and climbs onto the rubble. He has to be careful, but as long as he can swing over to the surviving part of the tower wall, just – grab that little hold, an old window, deep breath, and _push_ –

It’s a near thing, but he manages to land on the thin lip of the wall, crouching and grabbing at the crumbling brick in front of him for balance. He takes a few more deep breaths, ensuring his balance, and then stands. He can see the decimation behind him, and the destruction in front of him, too. But that doesn’t matter; about fifty feet away in a straight shot through the air – more like one-hundred feet, if he were in the hallways – is another tower. If he can climb across the rubble and side walls, he can get into that tower through an old window at the top. The rest of the castle is easily accessible from there; bedrooms, then down the stairs to the rest.

Climbing across the rubble and old walls is arduous, of course, and takes a hell of a lot of time, but it’s easier than going deeper into the destroyed parts and trying to find a way around. Also, if Geralt is honest, he kind of missed climbing like this – it’s been a while.

Lambert will really never let him live this down. _Climbing around like a Cat, Geralt, and you make fun of me –_ he can already hear his brother’s voice.

Once he reaches the tower, he lets himself rest a little, and cleans the brick dust from his clothes and hands as best he can. No need to frighten anyone here, if there _is_ anyone, by looking like he’s frantic and dirty. Also, depending, he might need to be in fighting condition. Fuck, he just wants to find Jaskier and get rid of this fucking monster.

A short meditation later, he feels much less fatigued. He stands and straightens all of his clothes and weapons, makes himself look as presentable as possible, and then heads down the tower stairs.

There’s no one in the bedrooms hallway, or the bedrooms themselves, but he can smell that people have been there recently. Lambert, he recognizes, and Eskel, but it’s different here – Vesemir…Jaskier?

It _is_ Jaskier, but it’s wrong. He smells like he’s been tangled up with Vesemir for a month.

So it’s not _his_ Jaskier, it’s the bard from this universe, but why…? Maybe he was hurt. Sometimes, back home at least, when one of them or a guest is heavily injured or sick, Vesemir will keep them in his bed to monitor them. That must be it. He hopes this Jaskier is alright, then. He’s at least mobile, or awake enough to be carried, Geralt can assume, considering that the scent trail leads down the stairs and toward the common area.

He follows it down. An overabundance of caution as well as habit keeps his footsteps silent, his heart rate steady, and his breathing shallow. The common room comes into view, and he can see Vesemir in his usual chair, as well as Lambert stoking the fire. He can hear Eskel’s voice, though he can’t see him.

“Like putting on a show?” He’s laughing. Geralt smiles automatically. He doesn’t know what Eskel’s referring to, but his humor has always been contagious; obviously, the others in this universe agree because Vesemir grins and Lambert chuckles.

He hears something else, though, and he can’t pin it. It’s something…wet. What is that?

There’s a little alcove near the kitchen entrance that he knows he can stand in where he’ll be able to see the whole common area, but no one inside will be able to see him unless they come out. He has to cross over a space where he _can_ be seen, though, to get to it, so he tenses in preparation and waits for the right moment.

Vesemir is looking toward wherever that wet sound is coming from, and Lambert is looking at the fire again. Eskel is murmuring something, too quiet for Geralt to make out all the words, and if there’s a version of himself in there, he’s being his usual taciturn self.

He darts across to the alcove, holding his breath, and waits.

No one reacts for a moment. And then two, three. Four. He breathes quietly, and shakes the tension from his shoulders before surveying the room again. Lambert at the fire, Vesemir in his chair, and now he can see himself, sitting on a couch looking toward the far side of the room.

At Eskel.

And Jaskier.

Who is on his knees, with Eskel’s cock down his throat.

Geralt barely bites back a shout of surprise, and presses himself back into the stone at his back as silently as possible. _What the fuck. What the_ fuck. He blinks and the image is still there; that’s the wet sound, and what Eskel was referring to about _a show._

What the everloving _fuck._

Jaskier seems to be enjoying himself, at least – he’s clearly hard, where he kneels in just his smallclothes, and he’s smiling around – Geralt doesn’t think about it too deeply. Okay. So that’s a thing in this universe, the – Jaskier and Eskel, and the rest of them _watching,_ that’s _fine,_ he just walked in at a bad time. He’ll just….

Eskel grabs Jaskier’s hair and pulls him up, off his cock. “You look desperate, pretty thing,” he murmurs. Jaskier makes a soft sound, voice _wrecked,_ and nods. “Beg to come.”

“Eskel, Eskel, please – ”

Eskel laughs. “Not me,” he says, and jerks his head toward Vesemir. Geralt’s stomach turns a little, but he withholds judgement because – well, this isn’t _his_ universe, or _his_ Jaskier. Or – his universe’s Jaskier, the bard doesn’t belong to _him,_ obviously –

“ _Please,_ Daddy, can I come? I want to come, Daddy, please, I’ll be good, please – ”

Geralt doesn’t bother to be quiet as he darts into the kitchen and out of the back door there. If any of them heard him, they don’t come after him.

He runs hard for ten minutes, and then stops at the edge of the trees to pant.

“Fucking – ” he mutters. “Okay. Okay. Not my problem, but clearly this isn’t where I need to be. No Jaskier, no monster. Need to get to Ciri.”

_Anywhere that isn’t here,_ he thinks.

He’s not judging this universe’s versions of them, really, they can live their lives as they’d like.

He’s just…uncomfortable.

He thinks about _his_ Jaskier – _his universe’s Jaskier,_ he corrects in his head, angrily – calling their Vesemir _Daddy,_ and his skin crawls. He shoves the thought away and moves on to thinking about how he’s going to get out of here.

The charm _should_ work, since he didn’t use it to cast the last portal. But he doesn’t want to risk breaking it, so he fishes the xenovox out of his satchel.

“Yennefer.”

“Geralt, where are you? Ciri said you got separated – ”

“We did, I’m fine. But I need to get out of here – nothing dangerous, just…look, don’t ask,” Geralt shudders a bit. “Can you tell me if the charm will work? I didn’t use it to cast a portal, so I don’t _think_ it’ll need that rest time, but….”

“But if you break it, you’re fucked,” Yennefer finishes. “Yeah, uh – it should work. For the sake of _safety,_ since Ciri did use her magic, though – where are you _exactly_? I can see that you’re at Kaer Morhen, but – ”

“I’m about a mile northeast of the castle.”

“Oh, thank the gods. Okay – there are some elven ruins in the forest, about…I would say maybe five miles away from you in that same direction. Certainly you’ve seen them?”

Geralt nods, then remembers that Yen can’t see him. “Yeah. It was – a fountain, wasn’t it?”

“Used to be, yeah. Chaos is stronger there – it should be enough to boost and ensure that the charm won’t break. Might want to wait an hour or two, maybe meditate some. Can’t guarantee that you’ll end up with Ciri, though.”

“Yeah.” Geralt sighs and rubs a hand across his face. “Do you know where she is?”

“The woods just outside Kaer Morhen, in a different universe. She’s trying to get to the castle right now.”

“Well, here’s hoping I get lucky.”

Yennefer snorts, and the xenovox crackles as it disconnects. Geralt sighs again, and starts his trek northeast.

It doesn’t take too long, especially once he gets his stamina back and can jog, and then run, the last two-thirds of it, but it’s still time he’d rather not be wasting out here in the woods. Every moment they’re not following a pointed trail feels wasted, like they could be doing _more,_ even though he knows that’s not true.

They’re doing what they can. Eventually, they’ll catch up.

The ruins look even more dilapidated than they did the last time Geralt saw them, sometime six or seven decades ago. Or longer – he’s not really sure. Time started to blur together after twenty years on the path, and didn’t really clarify until he met Jaskier, and even then it’s just vague impressions. He can keep an exact count of the years after he got Ciri, though. He wonders if that same amount of time has passed, here, or if time is different, and the ruins are different for another reason. He doesn’t ponder it too closely – no one around to ask, and it doesn’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things.

As soon as he enters the clearing, his medallion starts to vibrate. Chaos isn’t just stronger here, it’s near _palpable._ He considers Yennefer’s advice, and kneels on a relatively dry piece of ground to meditate for a while.

When he shakes out of the meditation, it’s been at least three hours, and he’s cold enough his joints are protesting movement. He’ll have to just try it then, no much more time he can wait unless he wants to go searching through the woods and set up camp. 

Standing, he focuses on the charm in his hands. And of course, he’s not as good at portals as Ciri – obviously – so it opens _directly under his feet._

“Oh, _fuuuuuu –_ ”

* * *

He crashes to the ground in the courtyard at Kaer Morhen. 

“Fuck,” he groans. The keep looms above him, and he wonders where he’s ended up this time. In the same place, different universe? Same place, different time?

A concerned shout of, “Geralt?” from the direction of the woods answers his question for him.

_Huh. I did get lucky._

“Ciri,” he calls back, and picks up the sound of running. He’s managed to sit up by the time Ciri bursts out of the woods and scrambles over a crumbled wall into the courtyard.

“Are you okay?” she asks, skidding onto her knees next to him. 

He waves a hand. “Fine,” he mumbles. “Just – rough landing, that’s all.”

“Where were you?”

“Here,” he answers. “Just a different universe.”

“Anything interesting?”

Geralt snorts. “You could say that,” he answers. “But nothing important. Seen anything but trees yet?”

Ciri shakes her head and stands, holding a hand out to help him to his feet. They both know he doesn’t actually need it, but he takes the assistance anyway. 

“Guess we’ll do this together, then,” Geralt says, gesturing to the door into the keep, and Ciri nods.

* * *

Aside from decently fresh scent trails, at first it appears that the castle is empty. Everything looks like it does back home, though, and from what Geralt can tell, everyone smells the same.

They both hear the footsteps at the same time. Ciri’s hand goes to Geralt’s arm while his hand goes to a dagger at his belt, and they wait.

Another Ciri turns the corner, looking about sixteen, and freezes. Her eyes go wide as saucers and she gasps.

“What – ”

Ciri takes a cautious step forward. “We’re from a different universe,” she explains gently. “Our Jaskier is lost, and there’s a monster after him and us. Has there been anything weird here in the last few days?”

“Besides one of Lambert’s experimental stills exploding, no,” this universe’s Ciri says, then laughs. “Oh, fuck, the multiverse, this is so above my scope – hold on.” She goes back around the corner, just far enough to be out of sight, and shouts.

“Vesemir! Geralt! All of you, there’s a – situation, get down here!”

Ciri – the one in her twenties – huffs. “Well. I see I’m no different here.”

Geralt snorts. “Her hair is longer.”

“Yeah, because I chopped it off myself with a dagger when I was seventeen, no thanks to _you,_ old man,” Ciri snarks, shoving his shoulder lightly. Geralt just throws an arm around her shoulders and yanks her into him so he can kiss her forehead. She shoves his side but doesn’t actually fight him, giggling softly.

The younger Ciri comes back around the corner. “They’ll all be here sooner or later,” she says. “Come on, no reason you can’t sit down. Unless you plan to use that dagger, old man.”

Geralt jerks his hand away from the dagger, almost surprised to hear _this_ Ciri talk to him like _his_ Ciri does, but he realizes it’s a dumb assumption. Of course their relationship would be similar, considering how similar everything else is so far.

His Ciri shakes her head at him, and follows herself to the common area, leaving Geralt to stand in the entry feeling like a moron. 

* * *

They’ve only been sitting down for a few minutes when the others start to filter in. Vesemir first, looking cautious, and then another Geralt, Eskel, Lambert, Coën. And Jaskier.

Who is holding a dagger, looking even more cautious than Vesemir. Huh.

“What is this?” Vesemir asks, sharply, clearly expecting to be answered. Geralt nearly opens his mouth to answer on an instinctual, ingrained habit of answering the elder Witcher. But his Ciri beats him to it.

“We’re from a different universe,” she explains, and the Ciri from this universe laughs and adds, “So you can see why I called you lot down here.”

The other Geralt snorts. So do Lambert, and Jaskier. Geralt finds himself smiling, too.

“And why, exactly, are you here?”

“Dumb luck, mostly,” Ciri shrugs. “Jaskier – _our_ Jaskier,” she corrects upon looking at Jaskier, who is still holding the dagger but to his side now. “He was trapped in a collapsing portal and is sort of – jumping. There’s also a monster after him, something the mage Stregobor, uh – created, I guess. That was why I asked Ciri,” she gestures, “if anything weird had happened here recently.”

“Just Lambert’s still exploding,” Jaskier answers, and everyone except Vesemir and Lambert snigger.

“That’s what I said!” Ciri giggles. Jaskier gives her an adoring look, and something in Geralt’s chest twists. They need to rest – both their means of travel have been exhausted, they don’t have a choice – but he wants to find their Jaskier.

“Alright, well,” Vesemir says, nodding. “No, nothing odd has happened here. No new Jaskier has arrived, nor a monster any more interesting than a forktail – unless that’s the kind of monster you’re talking about?”

Geralt shudders alongside Ciri.

“No,” Ciri says. “You’d definitely know this one. Size of a small castle, entirely too many legs, drools acid.”

“Oh, I’d rather not,” Jaskier scowls. “Nothing like that. You both look exhausted.”

“We are,” Ciri says, at the same time Geralt murmurs, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Jaskier snorts. “Looks like even different universes don’t change some things. Come on, come with me. We’ll get you bedrooms set up. Unless you’ve got to go?”

“We can’t,” Ciri says, sounding a little sheepish. “Not for a couple of days. Hopping universes isn’t exactly an easy feat.”

Jaskier claps. “Wonderful. Then we’ll get you bedrooms and get you fed, and then we can talk some more, alright?”

Geralt goes to open his mouth to – protest? He’s not really sure – but his counterpart shakes his head with a chuckle. 

“Don’t even try,” he suggests, throwing an arm around Jaskier’s waist and kissing his cheek. Geralt ignores the way it makes his stomach twist oddly. “He won’t take no for an answer.”

“I do not!” Jaskier agrees with a grin. “Now, come on.” He gestures, and Ciri stands to follow him while throwing an amused, _knowing_ look back at Geralt.

He frowns, but stands and follows them out.

Jaskier leads them up to the bedrooms. “We all sleep pretty close,” he says, gesturing to doors. “But there are some rooms left, and they should be relatively clean, even – I’ve been trying to clean them out lately.”

“And not succeeding!” Eskel shouts from somewhere in the direction of the kitchen, voice booming.

Jaskier just rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” he says. “Would you two like to share a room, or…?”

Geralt stops. “Uh.”

“Separate is fine,” Ciri says, voice a little odd.

Jaskier nods. “Alright,” he says. “I just ask because our Ciri – she slept in the same room as Coën, sometimes, when she was younger. She felt safer that way.”

“...Coën?” 

“Ah, yeah,” Jaskier nods, and they come to an apparently uninhabited room, as he stops and opens the door. “Coën served as Ciri’s bodyguard for years in her childhood, and he was the one to bring her to Kaer Morhen when Cintra fell.”

“During the first war?” Ciri asks.

“First war?” Jaskier asks, and starts bustling around the room, beating dust out of furs and arranging wood in the hearth. “Was there a second in your world?”

“Nearly three,” Geralt answers. “Two, and then a third that was foiled before it could properly begin.”

“Unfortunate,” Jaskier says, and he sounds genuinely sympathetic. “Only the one, here. Nilfgaard managed to take Cintra via an assassination, and Coën brought our Ciri here. The rest of the army, though, was stopped at Sodden Hill, and beaten back while they were still weak from the mages’ attacks.”

“Huh.” Geralt and Ciri say it at the same time, and Jaskier turns to look at them with an incredibly soft look on his face.

“They do that, too,” he says, when Geralt raises his eyebrows. “My Geralt and Ciri. I suppose we’ll have to come up with different names for everyone.”

“Call me Zireael,” Ciri says. “Or – ”

“Swallow,” Jaskier says, smiling. “That’s where your given name comes from. I like that you would choose it to go by.”

“You know Elder Speech,” Geralt says, and he doesn’t know why he sounds shocked. Their Jaskier knows it, too, for fuck’s sake.

“Mhm,” Jaskier nods, and doesn’t seem offended by the implication in Geralt’s tone. “I’ve gotten much less rusty, over the years, too. Happens when you spend so much time with Witchers and mages, I guess.”

“Is Yennefer here?” Ciri – or, Zireael, Geralt corrects, at least for now.

Jaskier shakes his head. “No, but I think we could contact her, if you need to?”

“No,” Geralt answers. “We can contact our Yennefer, if anything.” He pats the xenovox.

“Interesting,” Jaskier murmurs. “Anyway, this room is as good as it’s going to get without doing proper laundry, it's up to you two to decide who sleeps where – the next room over is empty, as well. I’ll go set that one up as well, hm?”

He gives Geralt a knowing look and darts out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Geralt feels very much like he’s just been called out, but he doesn’t exactly know _what_ he’s been called out on _._

“Geralt?” Ciri asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Geralt answers, and it’s not a lie. “These universes are just strange. This one is so similar to ours and yet….”

“Very, very different,” Ciri nods. “Well, we’ll be on our way soon enough. For now, I think we should take them up on the offer of food and rest.”

“Hm. Alright.”

Ciri shoves his shoulder playfully. “Now, we should also come up with a nickname for you, to make sure we’re not mixing you and the other Geralt up. I’m partial to _old man,_ but I think this Ciri calls her Geralt that, too, so – ”

She easily deflects the playful blow Geralt gives, and laughs while they tussle.

Geralt can’t exactly hide his grin.


	2. chapter 2

When Jaskier returns to the room, both Zireael and the other Geralt are grinning. It makes him grin, too.

Whatever is happening to them is clearly terrifying, and stressful, and Jaskier has no interest in finding out what it’s like personally. But right now – seeing them, basically an older version of his lover and their daughter, grinning and elbowing each other almost like children? It’s  _ wonderful. _

“Other room is ready, too,” he says. “Dinner is in about an hour, maybe an hour and a half, but I’m sure we could find something to put together earlier if you need. Or you two can rest, if you’d like.”

Geralt and Zireael share a look, and Zireael shrugs.

“I’m curious about this world,” Geralt says, honestly, and Jaskier’s grin widens.

“Well, come on. Easier to answer questions with all of us.” He gestures back toward the common room. 

* * *

Everyone is still gathered in the common room when they return. Jaskier plops himself down easily next to his Geralt, leaning close when the Witcher wraps an arm around his waist. He sees the way the other Geralt stares at the movement and wonders, but doesn’t ask. “So, the other Ciri said she’d go by Zireael, just so we don’t get everyone mixed up, but as far as the Geralts – ”

The Geralt not wrapped around Jaskier snorts. “I’m relatively sure I’m physically older,” he says. “I suppose I can be  _ old man _ for now. Or just the ‘older Geralt.’”

Both Ciris break into laughter at that. Jaskier sniggers as well, shoving his shoulder into Geralt playfully and accepting the light swat he gets to his hip in retaliation.

“So, what questions did you have about this world?” Jaskier asks after a moment of laughter, directed toward Zireael. 

She hums. “Well, obviously  _ my _ life is rather different,” she says. “How did I – or, well, she,” she gestures to Ciri and everyone chuckles a little, “get here? Not just to Kaer Morhen, but – ”

“Everything,” Ciri finishes. “Yeah. Well, Geralt claimed the Law of Surprise – ”

“Like a dumbass,” Lambert interjects, and Jaskier looks over to see him dodge Eskel’s thrown elbow. He snickers, and Eskel rolls his eyes.

“Not wrong, uncle Lambert,” Ciri giggles. “Is that how it happened for you?”

Zireael nods. “I think that’s the same, then. It was at my mother’s betrothal banquet. For me, I didn’t end up with Geralt until I was nearly thirteen, through a series of odd missed connections. I’d never met him, Jaskier, or anyone else. This was after Cintra fell, during the First War – there were two, nearly three, in our universe.”

Ciri frowns. “Just the one, here,” she says. “And I was the same age, but when I was younger, Jaskier was my music tutor, and Coën was my bodyguard. When Nilfgaard assassinated my grandparents and took Cintra, Coën brought me here with a portal charm Yennefer had given him.”

“Correction, actually,” Jaskier adds. “Yen gave the charm to me, and I gave it to Coën. Tiny detail, but still.” 

Ciri waves a hand. “Yeah. I’ve been going back and forth between here and Yennefer for training since. Alternating winters.”

“I was really only trained here,” Zireael says. “It’s interesting how much is the exact same while being so vastly different.”

“You can say that again,” Older Geralt says, and Jaskier doesn’t miss the way he’s still staring at where Geralt’s hand is wrapped around his waist. He wonders even more.

“Well, I need to go check on the still that didn’t explode,” Lambert announces. 

Jaskier and Ciri chuckle, but when Lambert leans down to kiss Jaskier, he leans up and accepts it easily, Geralt leaning slightly to the side so he’s not in the way. It’s totally normal – enough that Ciri doesn’t even mumble  _ gross _ anymore – but Older Geralt makes a short, sharp noise.

“What?” Jaskier asks, and Older Geralt looks sheepish.

“Uh, just – you’re with...all of them?” he asks, sounding slightly uncomfortable.

Jaskier feels himself rise to defensiveness immediately, but fights it down. “I’m with Geralt, Lambert, and Eskel, yes,” he says. He doesn’t bother mentioning all of the other entanglements they’re all in. “What about it?”

Older Geralt raises an eyebrow. “...not Vesemir, too?”

There’s a long, awkward pause. 

“I’m sorry,  _ what? _ ” Geralt asks. Older Geralt sighs and runs a hand across his face.

“Yeah, what?” Zireael asks, looking to her father. “What are you talking about?”

“The universe I ended up in before this one,” Older Geralt says. “It was – well.”

“It was  _ what? _ ” Eskel and Lambert ask in tandem.

“When I got there, I saw Jaskier was – uh. He was...fellating Eskel,” Older Geralt nearly whispers it, and Ciri makes a high, hysterical sound.

“I’m out!” she announces, “see you all at dinner, please be done with this conversation by then!” She bounds up from her seat and disappears around the corner, headed in the direction of either the baths or the libraries. Jaskier snorts.

“She acts like she’s not been around us for several years now,” he says. Geralt snorts as well, and Lambert and Eskel make vaguely assenting sounds. “Anyway,” he continues. “To be frank, that sounds like a normal thing. Are you sure you didn’t just end up in this universe, but a few days ago?”

Older Geralt’s face twists. “Positive. Unless you were blowing Eskel and then called Vesemir ‘daddy’.”

“I’m sorry, I called Vesemir  _ what? _ ” Jaskier asks, at the same time Vesemir sprays wine over his own lap.

“Fuck,” Lambert mutters, and rushes to the kitchen to grab a rag. Geralt, at Jaskier’s side, seems somewhere between dumbstruck and hysterical, eyes wide as he looks at Vesemir, who is still coughing up wine. Eskel has collapsed back into his seat and seems to be doing breathing exercises.

“What did you  _ see? _ ” Zireael asks, voice a little pitchy.

Older Geralt groans. “Just that! Jaskier was blowing Eskel and then he called Vesemir daddy and I just – I bolted.”

“Good choice!” Lambert snaps when he comes back in and hands Vesemir a rag to start wiping up with. “That sounds like – y’know what? I don’t want to think about it.”

“Me either,” Eskel says, rough.

“I’m definitely not,” Geralt chimes in.

“ _ I  _ am going to bed,” Vesemir announces. “Don’t worry about my dinner. Just….”

He doesn’t finish that, instead just looking at Jaskier and shaking his head and then leaving, still stained with wine.

Jaskier watches him go, and then collapses into hysterical laughter. 

* * *

When they all reconvene at the dinner table – Ciri a little cautiously, and Vesemir missing as expected – it’s a little awkward.

Until, of course, Lambert manages to fumble his hold on a bowl while staring at Older Geralt, and drops it to his feet to shatter.

There’s silence for the space of a heartbeat, and then everyone except Lambert is positively  _ howling _ with laughter. Lambert grumbles and goes to get a broom to clean up the bits of stoneware now scattered over the floor, but Jaskier catches the little quirk of his lips as he passes. 

All of them settle into dinner easily after that, the tension around the table lifted with the humor of Lambert’s fumble. Of course, if left to their own devices, none of them would speak to each other properly over meals, so Jaskier pipes up after a bit.

“So,” he starts. “How different am I from your Jaskier, if I may ask?”

Zireael and Older Geralt share a look, and then Older Geralt huffs.

“Hardly at all,” he answers. “You’re...well, not  _ bolder, _ that’s not right.”

“It’s hard to describe,” Zireael chimes in. “There’s differences, but nothing easy to define. That dagger is different, though.”

She nods toward where she saw Jaskier stow his dagger earlier. He chuckles and pats it. 

“This? Oh, I’ve carried this since I started attending Oxenfurt. Wasn’t nearly as good with it then as I am now, of course.”

“Did they teach you?” Older Geralt asks, looking around to the rest of the table.

“With that dagger?” Lambert chuckles. “Not much, no. He knew how to use it just fine when he came to winter here for the first time. He’d threatened me, Eskel, and Geralt with it plenty before that first winter, anyway.”

“Lambert did teach me how to use a sword properly though,” Jaskier adds, throwing a wink at Lambert. Lambert gives him a heated look, and Ciri groans.

“Don’t  _ start, _ ” she mutters, and Jaskier chuckles.

“Sorry, darling,” he says. 

“No you’re not.” She rolls her eyes and tosses a small piece of meat at him. Geralt, to his side, catches it and eats it. Lambert, Eskel, and Zirael all snicker, while Older Geralt looks fondly at Ciri and Geralt both. 

Jaskier points a fork at her. “I’m really not that sorry,” he confirms. “Anyway. He’s right, I did know how to use it by the time I wintered here for the first time. Really, I got used to using it after I started working for the Redanian government. Came in handy on...sensitive missions.”

Older Geralt quirks one scarred brow. “Wait,” he says, and appears to be thinking for a moment. “When did you become a spy?”

“Just after I graduated from Oxenfurt,” Jaskier answers. “I graduated early, of course.”

“That’s different, then,” Older Geralt says. “Our Jaskier graduated at nineteen, and didn’t start doing intelligence work until much later. So you were already a spy when you met m – him?”

Jaskier nods. 

“Hold on,” Zireael suddenly says, “Lambert said – you met them before coming here for a winter?”

Jaskier nods again. “I met Geralt first, I assume that remains the same,” he pauses to wait for a nod, continuing when he gets it, “but not long after that we encountered Eskel, and then later, while by myself, I ran into him again. Same with Lambert – I ran into him by myself. Vesemir as well, actually.”

“He’d met my entire family before I could so much as figure out how to introduce him,” Geralt grouses, and Jaskier elbows him playfully. 

“Good thing, too,” Eskel murmurs. “You never would have been able to do it properly.”

“Just because you lot wouldn’t believe me when I said he was crazy.”

“Our mistake,” Lambert chuckles.

“You guys are so gross,” Ciri chimes in around a slurp of her food. 

“Cirilla,” Coën murmurs, the first thing he’s said all night, and Ciri just gives a rude hand gesture. Lambert and Eskel snort, though only Eskel has the decorum to try and hide it. Geralt, for his part, gives Ciri a warning look, though it’s a little ruined by the quirk of his lips.

“Don’t  _ Cirilla _ me,” Ciri huffs. “They’re flirting, and everyone except those two know it. It’s  _ gross. _ ”

“And you’ve been seeing it for several years now, princess, so I’m not sure why it’s still such an event,” Lambert shoots back. He gets a piece of meat tossed at him for it; like Geralt earlier, he just catches it and eats it with a smirk. 

Ciri rolls her eyes with a put-upon groan, but much like Geralt’s silent reprimand, it’s ruined slightly by her small grin. Jaskier finds himself grinning, too.

* * *

Later that night, after all of them decide to share one room for the night, Geralt is the one to finally bring it up.

“Do you think he knows he’s in love with his Jaskier?” he asks.

Lambert, across the room stoking the fire, snorts. “He’s in denial,” he answers. “Exactly like you were at first.”

“I wasn’t in  _ denial, _ ” Geralt huffs. Jaskier snorts, trying to muffle the sound in Eskel’s shoulder. It’s fruitless, considering that Geralt is a Witcher, but he still tries. “I  _ wasn’t, _ ” Geralt insists. “I...genuinely didn’t know what I was feeling.”

“That’s not better,” Eskel snickers, and Geralt thumps him with a pillow. 

Jaskier can’t really help the way he’s giggling, but he scoots over to Geralt’s side and kisses his cheek. “Don’t listen to them,” he murmurs. “You got there eventually. That Geralt will, too.”

“I really wonder about that other universe he saw, though,” Lambert muses as he crawls into the bed. 

“I don’t,” Geralt says, face twisting. When Jaskier looks over to Eskel, his expression is a mirror of Geralt’s, and he laughs.

“It’s a totally different universe,” he says. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not about to start calling Vesemir  _ daddy _ unless something drastic happens and I end up regressing by several decades.”

Lambert frowns, scooting up until he can worm his way between Eskel and Jaskier, putting the two of them in the middle with Eskel and Geralt on either side. Jaskier turns and allows Lambert to embrace him. “Don’t piss off any mages,” he mumbles, and Jaskier laughs.

“I think the only one I would nowadays is Yen, and unfortunately for her, she already likes me too much.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Geralt laughs, yawning. “We should rest. They’ll still be here tomorrow. Have to figure out other things to do than sleep and feed them.”

Jaskier hums. “No, I think they could take naps and let me feed them just fine. Don’t know why they’d object.”

“ _ They  _ wouldn’t,” Eskel chuckles. “But we would. We’re not used to not being the center of your attention anymore, bard.” He’s teasing, but there’s a nugget of truth to his words. Jaskier rolls his eyes and leans up from Lambert’s shoulder to kiss him.

“You’d survive one day,” he says. “But fine. You three can come up with something to pass the time tomorrow. I’ve got lessons with  _ our  _ Ciri, anyway.”

“Assuming you can keep track of her.”

“That was  _ once, _ Geralt. Go to sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> so idk if this _event_ is going to be canon in fire and powder, but! there is some info about the surrounding world in f&p, if you pay attention, as they compare their universes :D


End file.
